Love Thy Neighbor: A Story of War and Love
by MyaBellermine
Summary: Journalist Callie Torres ventures into Bosnia in 1992 after war breaks out. Arizona Robbins is a Captain with the United States Marines who works at the U.S. Embassy in Belgrade, Serbia. Captain Robbins volunteers to be an escort for the journalists in Bosnia and gets hired to escort Callie Torres. In the middle of a war torn area, the two slowly begin to fall in love.
1. And You're the Reporter

**A/N: This story uses real places and events, it takes place during the Bosnian War. I took from multiple sources to write this. This story will be highly detailed and some events may seem gruesome. I do not mean to minimize what happened in Bosnia and I can not say that all the information I give is 100% accurate, but it is as accurate as far as I know. Some events actually occurred, others did not. **

**I do name many real places so if you want you might want to use Google maps to see what I am talking about. I find that it helps immensely. Many of the places named are hard to say/read. **

**This chapter is mainly background and this is definitely a Calzona fanfic, the characters may be a little OOC. I will be touching on sensitive topics, and I will worn you when I do. Also, if anybody was in Bosnia during the war (You never know) then again I apologize for any inaccurate information.**

***the whole opium thing with Britain did happen but in the 1820s or 1830s in Canton which is now Guangzhou and not how I stated, but I just needed something for Callie to be famous in the journalism world so it in this story apparently takes place in around the 1980s. **

**Also, Sexuality is a non-issue during this time period in this particular story.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and I do not mean to offend anyone with the subject matter. Also, the title belongs to a book by Peter Maass called _Love Thy Neighbor: A Story of War._**

Chapter 1: "And You're the Reporter"

In her eight years of reporting various news stories on international affairs, Callie Torres had never experienced anything remotely close to what she had experienced over the span of a few months. She found herself in the middle of a war torn country with numerous atrocities happening around her everyday. She shivered at the thought of what she had seen and what she had heard. As a reporter/journalist for the Grey-Sloan Memorial Post, she herself had volunteered to take the trip and spread the word on what was happening. Her boss, Richard Webber, had no problems with it and in fact was going to recommend her as she was the first and only winner of the Harper Avery Award for Exceptional Journalism under the age of 35. At the ripe old age of 27, Callie had worked for prestigious daily newspapers like the Seattle Grace Mercy West Tribune, the Seattle Presbyterian Inquirer, and even a brief and enjoyable stint with New York Times.

She had her degree in journalism and attend J school at the University of Berkeley. Of course, while majoring in journalism she also minored in international policies and affairs. Her rigorous schooling and dedication had her the youngest graduate at 19 years old. This was basically unprecedented and it was foreshadowing of the rock star she would become in the journalism world. She found herself an intern that same year at the Seattle Presbyterian Inquirer and by the age of 20 she had been offered a full time spot as a writer on international affairs at Seattle Grace Mercy West Tribune. When she was 22 she a broke the biggest story of the decade on the opium affair which had Britain flooding Guangzhou, China with cheaply manufactured opium. With a little help from her close friend and fellow journalist Mark Sloan, Callie had been the youngest recipient of the Harper Avery Award. At 23 she was working with New York Times as their top investigative journalist until she was offered the same position with better pay at Grey-Sloan Memorial Post.

Now here she lie in her small, sweated-soaked bed in a dingy hotel room three years on the job with Grey-Sloan. She let out a long, exasperated sigh as she stared at the ceiling of the room. It was a hot, sticky day in June. The sweat clung almost desperately to her skin, and she tossed and turned on the tiny bed trying to find a suitable position to fall asleep in. It was not like she regretted coming into the middle of a war zone because she did not. The stories that she got to tell were ones she was honored to have told and she loved advocating for those who could not themselves. Of being the voice for the people who did not have the means to voice their own horror stories. No she did not regret it, but hearing bullets being shot off in the near distance made her uneasy and restless. Bosnia. A piece of Yugoslavia which was also comprised of Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Slovenia, and Kosovo. Slobodan Milosevic, nationalist leader of Serbia began pushing for what he called a "greater Serbia". The fearful Bosnians, afraid Milosevic was going to try to take away their land if they stayed under Yugoslavian control, called for independence. Then, Radovan Karadzic created a renegade army within Bosnia with the support of Milosevic in Belgrade. This would lead to the beginning of the siege in Sarajevo on April 6, 1992 and the "cleansing" of Bosnia. This was why Callie currently had decided to live in a constant state of fear and panic. To report the gruesome details of the war that people needed to hear. Many critics called her current articles, and other journalists articles, war porn. But to Callie it was the truth. The stark reality of what was happening. People needed to know, they needed to hear so that hopefully someone would attempt to do something about it.

Tomorrow she would meet with her second interpreter/personal security/ tour guide, she almost panicked at the thought; she would have to leave the hotel. A woman named Arizona Robbins who had previously work in the U.S. Embassies as an international liaison would become her official escort around Bosnia from now on. She would also accompany her to Belgrade in Serbia and Zagreb in Croatia. From what she read from the dossier, Captain Robbins served with the United States Marine Corp, the first female in her family to serve in the military. Unlike her father and brother before her, she became a Captain at quite a young age before deciding to work in the embassy located in Belgrade. When war broke out in Bosnia, she made a calculated decision to help out the reporters/journalists who went into the middle of the war zone. Grey-Sloan had personally hired her to take care of their star journalist after Callie's first interpreter/personal security escort had been shot during a run for supplies into Žepa by Bosnian Serb soldiers. Callie had not known much about her interpreter as making friends in a war zone was not as easy as it would seem. They talked about what they had too and not a word more. The lose of George O'Malley scared he more then anything. It showed her just how vulnerable they actually were and how at any moment, their life could be taken from them.

Another shot rang out. Callie's hotel, the Holiday Inn, lie in one of the most dangerous parts of Sarajevo; "sniper alley" as it was dubbed was the informal name primarily for Ulica Zmaja od Bosne (Dragon of Bosnia Street) which was the main boulevard in Sarajevo. "Sniper alley" got its name because it was lined with sniper posts who took position in the many high-rise buildings or mountains that surrounded the city. "Pazi – Snajper!" ("Watch out – Sniper!") signs became common sights around Sarajevo. Getting in and out of the building was an exercise all on its own as the journalists had to book it out the back of the building as fast as they could armored with flack jackets and helmets just to avoid being shot. Still, there was almost no guarantees they would make it safely to wherever they were headed. The Holiday Inn was run almost entirely on black market supplies, there was no electricity, no running water, and half of the hotel was open to the hot, humid air as it had been blown up by a bomb. Many journalists decided to stay at the the hotel, and Callie was one of them.

Tomorrow was definitely going to be another adventure for her.

…

"Okay," the man breathed his warm, stale breath on Callie, "make sure your helmets on tight." The bearded man then pointed across the street towards a different building, "you make it there and hit the floor. Follow the corridor straight down, ON your stomach, and you should find a door. Go through the door and out the blown up side of the building and there should be an armored U.N. Vehicle about ready to take off. They are heading toward the embassies and you have your media pass, so they will take you there. Just make it across the street and you should be golden, understand?"

Callie nodded her answer before taking a deep breath. She really hated this part of being in Sarajevo. She took a long glance across the street already formulating her plan of zig-zagging across the road. The road was maybe fifteen feet wide, but at the moment it looked a lot wider. Her face was sweating, like always, and the grime that she had previously been disgusted by was not starting to feel like a normal part of her skin. She knew once she got out of Sarajevo and met her contact in Travnik she would get her long awaited shower. From there her and her contact would ride up to Banja Luka over to Prejidor and then cross the border into Croatia. From Novska, Croatia, Callie would take a small plane into the capital Zagreb where she would meet with Captain Robbins. The captain would then take her to Belgrade where they would stay until Callie wrote her next article and got proper supplies and funding from Grey-Sloan. Then they would head back into Bosnia, this time taking a visit to Gorazde.

She felt a strong pat on her back and the man spoke again, "you're a good woman, so don't get dead and good luck."

One more breath before Callie put a hand on her helmet and darted out quickly into the street. She held her breath as she sprinted across the pot-holed rode. She heard a gun shot. She let her breath out. She was nearing the sidewalk of the street now. Another gun shot, hitting the bullet-filled car behind her. Her breath hitches. The corridor is only steps away, and with that she flings her body to the floor the rest of the way sliding safely into the wall covered area. Callie could feel her heart pounding in her chest, could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her chest heaved up and down and she felt like she wanted to barf. Rolling onto her back she looked back across the rode to the man giving him a thumbs up and a mouthed "thank you". He nods and then disappears back into the hotel. Now all she had to do was crawl to the end of the corridor and she would be home free. The corridor, although walled, had several large mirrors on it, mirrors which had long ago lost the glass it held. That glass was currently shattered all around the floor. The wall opposite of those windows was covered with bullet holes and blood. She guessed people had to learn the hard way.

Trial and error with fatal consequences.

…

Callie did not know how many people she saw get gunned down here in Bosnia. Did not know how many people she saw die in explosions or how many people she saw on the streets starving. This war was ripping this country apart, and she had only a couple of different cities. Some of the cities had been the more safe areas of the country. Sarajevo was probably the worst place she had seen and what she had seen had looked a lot like genocide. That was what she was writing her next article on. The ethnic cleansing happening in Sarajevo and she was also doing a smaller piece on her time living in "sniper alley".

"What are you going to Zagreb for?" her contact, Erica Hahn, asked.

Callie slowly trained her eyes on the blonde woman sitting across from her. "Going to meet an interpreter who is gonna take me to Belgrade."

Erica gave her a smirk, "you done with Bosnia then? Calling it quits and going back to the states?"

"No," Callie shook her head. This woman got on her nerves and her little comment just pissed her off even more, "writing my article and resupplying then I am going to head back. Not that it concerns you."

Erica put her hands up as if to say sorry, "my bad. Where you headed to after Belgrade?"

"Does it matter?" Callie asked, her patience was lacking at the moment.

"Guess not," Erica shrugged and looked away from Callie. "I was just wondering if you were headed anywhere near Visegrad."

Callie let out a small sigh, "I'm headed to Gorazde, so yeah I'll be passing through Visegrad."

Erica looked at her quickly and then away before swallowing hard. She opened her mouth to talk and then shut it. Opening it again she said, "can you do me a favor?"

The raven-haired woman studied Erica's face for a moment. She looked sincere, like she really needed the favor, and Callie would not deny her anyway. If she could help then she would. Callie nodded, "what?"

"Can you ask around for a Eric Hahn?" Erica asked softly. "He is my twin brother."

Callie stared at her and raised her eyebrows.

Erica chuckled, "I know. Our mom was really original with our names..." There was a silent moment before her face turned serious, "... Anyways he was deployed out there with the United Nations back in May and I haven't heard from him since. I just... I know a lot of U.N. Soldiers have been gunned down there and I'm worried... he is my best friend... he is all I have left."

Callie knew, she was missing her older sister as they spoke. It was not the same, but they were both missing someone. Callie's jaw clenched at the thought that her sister was definitely alive and well, the same could not be said for Erica's brother. "I'll ask around."

"Thank you," Erica whispered almost sadly, "I appreciate it. You have my contact information... so no matter the news, please just let me know okay?"

"I promise," Callie whispered back as she looked straight ahead.

She had a feeling that the news may not be good news.

…

"God I haven't been in a place this nice in weeks," Callie groaned as she stretched in the lobby of her hotel. She was currently waiting in the air conditioned lobby area of the hotel in Zagreb and it felt ridiculously good. She was clean and well fed and there was definitely electricity and no bullets flying outside. All the walls of the hotel were still in place. She tried to enjoy it because she knew that in a couple more weeks she would again not have all these luxuries.

She was waiting for Captain Robbins now. She had no idea what she looked like, but she did know all about her and that she was a younger woman about her age. Callie had been waiting for the past hour and to be honest she did not mind all too much. She had made a very expensive call back to Grey-Sloan in Seattle letting Richard and Mark know that she was alive and well and that she would have her article done by sometime next week. Richard was happy to hear from her, letting her know to take her time and asking her what she would need for her next trip back into Bosnia. She had given him a list and he said he would have it ready for her before passing the phone over to Mark. Mark had teased her and had honestly made her laugh for the first time since she came over to Bosnia. There was not much to laugh about when bullets are flying everywhere and people are dying constantly. With a good-bye she called her family to check in before settling down on the comfortable couch. Now she waited.

She watched different people walk in and out of the building. People of different ethnicity and race, woman and men and children, reporters and lawyers and camera men and soldiers. It was a busy building and she enjoyed how the rushed atmosphere was a juxtaposition to her relaxation. Finally she saw a smaller, blonde woman walk into the hotel. She wore a black leather jacket, white v-neck, blue jeans, black combat boots, and dark aviators. Her curly, short blonde hair bounced as she walked. Somehow Callie knew that this was the Captain. She just had that feel to her.

Arizona looked around, spotted Callie on the couch, and made her way towards her. Approaching Callie, she removed her sun glasses to reveal her brilliant blue eyes. She stopped in front of Callie.

"Calliope Torres?" she asked.

"That would be me," Callie smiled and pointed at herself. "You must be Captain Robbins."

Arizona shrugged, "yup. And you're the reporter."

"Journalist," Callie corrected.

"Pain in the ass," Arizona said.

Callie's eyes widened, "excuse me?"

Arizona chuckled, "you're gonna be a pain in the ass. I can already tell."

...

**This chapter as you can tell is basically background and kind of a teaser, so drop a review please and let me know if you want to see this piece continue. Thoughts, comments, recommendations? And if it is criticism please make it constructive so I can work on myself as a writer. Thanks for reading/tuning in :) -Mya**


	2. Time For Some Damn Fine Reporting

**WARNING: Sensitive content in this chapter possible TRIGGERS**

**Disclaimer: Again I do not own anything. I especially borrowed heavily from _Love Thy Neighbor: A Story of War_ by Peter Maass and I want to make that abundantly clear. **

**These chapters take awhile because I do have to put in a lot of research and then decide how much Callie/Arizona interaction to put into it because I need to balance it still with more of this introductory stuff. **

**Again I apologize for any misinformation, I really do try to get it as accurate as possible and any mistakes within the chapter are 100% mine.**

**Italics are flashbacks.**

**And with that, without further ado, here's the next chapter:**

Chapter 2: "Time for some damn fine reporting"

Callie and Arizona sat at the bar In the air conditioned Hyatt Hotel. They had made it to Belgrade safely seeing as they did not have to travel back into Bosnia.

The hotel was luxurious by most standards; television with satellite channels, room service and air conditioning. Callie and Arizona had been there for five days, and the pair had hardly spoken two words to each other despite sharing a room. The room sharing had been Arizona's idea as she said that if she was going to be Callie's personal protection detail then she was going to protect her right so they had got a room together; two single beds. Their schedules differed greatly with Callie being used to staying up all hours of the night to write her articles, and Arizona going to bed at 7:30 sharp. She never missed her scheduled bedtime either, she was always right on time. By 7:00 lights out and by 7:30 her soft snores would fill the room ever so gently. Callie would chuckled to herself before pulling out her laptop and beginning her work. She would them pour over her different sources and various pieces of information before deciding which ones she would choose to include in her articles. It was always one of the hardest decisions for the Latina, as she wanted to tell all of the stories she encountered, but she knew that she could not. If she was not writing her article, then she was researching or doing editing for a number of other articles for Grey-Sloan. At around two or three, Callie would then fall out, succumbing to her sleepiness. An hour or so she would wake to Arizona slipping out of bed at 4 A.M.

Arizona had this tight schedule. Rising early at 4, as soon as she was out of bed she would begin her daily warm-up exercises. One hundred and fifty crunches, exactly. No more and no less. Ten jumping jacks. Ten push-ups. Ten jumping jacks. Ten push-ups. Over and over and over again until she hit ten reps of each. No more and no less. Arizona would start off with ease, until her breathing began to progressively increase. Her rough breathing coupled with her muttering her numbers. One, two, three, one. One, two, three, two. One, two, three, three. And so on and so forth. Like a mantra, keeping the pace of her exercises with the pace at which she spoke her words. Stated over and over it always managed to lull Callie back into a peaceful sleep. By 5:00 she would be out the door for her daily five mile run that would somehow last exactly till 5:50, without fail. Back into the room by 6:00; showered by 6:15. 6:30 breakfast was made. 6:45 the blonde began to read the newspaper and by 7:00 the news would be playing in their small "living room". 7:30 she would pull out the most recent book she was reading. By 8:00 and with three chapters down, Arizona would begin to get stir crazy from being in the room to long and she would attempt to wake Callie.

This had started a little over two weeks ago when the women were in Croatia. They had stayed longer then expected in the country as Callie had different places that she wanted to check out. The two women had stayed a whole week at the hotel in Zagreb because Callie had needed to stay in contact with Webber and Mark who were trying to set her up with a BBC contact once she reached Belgrade. The BBC camera woman had contacted Grey-Sloan and proposed a collaborative piece in regards to a supposed secret, Serbian prison camp in Batkovic. Batkovic was a small village that resided just before hitting the city Bijeljina. It was one of the first few prisons camps that began to pop up during the summer, and it was to be a huge story as the world was just hearing of the news of these concentration camps. Once they had set up the meeting place, the BBC camera woman agreed to just meet Callie when she entered Belgrade, Arizona and Callie made their way towards the area closer to Croatia's coast. Split, was a city that ran along the Adriatic sea in the Dalmatia region of Croatia, and it was home to a large refugee camp with guaranteed untold stories that would do good in supplementing her latest article and furthering her argument that what was happening in Bosnia was the beginnings of a genocide.

Callie thought back on their experience their and shivered. She remembered what it was like and she questioned her decision to visit the place. Hearing about it and experiencing it were two separate things.

…

_It smelled, horribly so. It smelled like somebody had stuck a group of animals together; like filth. The sports hall was filled with sweaty, smelly people. It was weird for Callie to associate humans with animals. A common analogy was sometimes referring to a man as a pig or sometimes referring to a person as a cow. Either way both were offensive and both made a direct reference to either appearance or trait, but never had Callie imagined connotating woman and children and men with the smell of animals. Many of the people in the Sports Hall had not showered in over a month. Callie's nose scrunched due to the overpowering smell, but Arizona's remained unchanged as if to make the statement that this did not faze her. She prided herself on being a soldier. And a soldier through and through she was. To her a soldier did not show emotions. They were the protectors and they did not have the luxury of being scared because it was the soldiers job to protect the scared. _

_ The urge to show emotion this time however, was crushing. The sports hall was packed; filled with hundreds of people so that many of them had to live on the bleachers. Arizona had never seen anything remotely close to this. She could tell by Callie's nose that the smell of the place got the best or her, but for Arizona it was the sight of the place. The sight of the different people who now called the sports hall their home, even if it was temporary. Getting around was a piece of work, but they eventually were flagged down by a woman who sat at the very edge of the gym, her stuff packed into a corner on the basketball floor. Arizona closely followed Callie, as the Latina made her way towards the woman._

_ She had barely spoke to the woman after their first meeting. Just a few words here and there. She was sure that Callie was displeased with her after the pain in the ass comment, so Arizona just left the woman to her own devices. Plus, half the time Callie had her head behind the screen of her laptop, tapping away at her keyboard and eating her cheesy Cheetos which strangely infuriated Arizona for reasons unknown. Just Callie's habits infuriated Arizona. The raven-haired beauty was a slob; she left her clothes everywhere, she left her papers everywhere, she left her trash everywhere. She left everything everywhere always. She was disorganized to no end and Arizona honestly did not know how she managed to function that way. On top of being disorganized, the concept of time did not exist for Callie, and as a result she was constantly late. Callie could not cook so her eating habits were not the greatest and she knew not of boundaries. She would walk into the bathroom well Arizona showered... on the days she was actually up at a correct time of day. The taller woman walked around with minimal clothing, and it seemed like a piece of her skin always had to be showing when they were in the comfort of their own room. Arizona could honestly say that she had never met a person who was as bad as Callie. It pissed Arizona off. So far she really regretted taking the job for Grey-Sloan._

_ Coming to a stop in front of the lady who had called them over, she watched as Callie instantly dropped to sit cross legged like the woman. Callie put herself at the same level as the woman who had two kids next to her. Arizona just stood; she watched._

_ "You're a reporter, yes?" the woman asked._

_ Callie nodded her head, "yeah. I am Callie Torres, I work for Grey-Sloan Memorial Post. Who are you?"_

_ "Mina," the woman answered softly averting her gaze away from Callie._

_ "Where are you from Mina?" Callie asked beginning what was essentially an interview._

_ "Foca," Mina said._

_ Callie nodded, she was gently trying to coax Mina to talk to her. To open up more. Even though Mina had called her over, Callie knew that she was not just going to tell her everything right off the bat. "How long did it take you to get from Foca to here, in Split?"_

_ Mina looked over at her two small children before making eye contact with Callie, "normally it is a six hour drive, but it took the three of us forty-five days."_

_ "Sorry?" Callie said in disbelief, "forty-five days?"_

_ Mina sighed softly and her eyes began to get watery, "we left in the middle of the night. Serb paramilitary soldiers attacked our town and I did not want the kids to be around that, so we left in the middle of the night," she looked at her kids again. Back at Callie and then darting over to Arizona who continued to stand. "We avoided all the roads. I dragged the kids out of our home and marched them and myself through forest and mountains. We had to sneak past Serb villages, sometimes they shot at us."_

_ Callie placed her hand slowly over Mina's hand that rested on the gym floor. A gesture of sympathy and comfort, however meaningless it really was. It managed to reassure Mina. "So forty-five days?"_

_ Mina nodded her head, "I saw them round up Muslim and Croat men in Foca and put them into camps."_

_ Callie wrote that down._

_ Mina continued and the tears began to well up again, but she never let them spill over. Perhaps she was being strong for her kids. The next sentence was whispered gently and Callie had almost not heard it, "Serb soldiers dragged a girl from her home one day. I remember it. I remember them bringing her back, dumping her right in front of her house, and taking off again. I remember her bleeding a lot, you know, from down there," she let her eyes trail to Callie's groin and it hit Callie at full speed what Mina was implying. "It was said she had been sexually abused numerous times by numerous soldiers. She died." That sentence seemed to take Callie's breath away. Like she had just been hit by a train and it had knocked all the air from her lungs._

_ She knew the horrible things that had happened. She had seen the horrible things that had happened. She even heard the stories of the horrible things that had happened. But never had she thought that the start of a war could birth such horrible things. Prior to Bosnia, Callie had never thought a lot of things._

_ Arizona cleared her throat and Callie looked up at her. Her eyes were tinged red and her jaw was clenched tightly. She gave a nod at Callie before turning to leave. Callie watched as Arizona walked away and ran her hand through her blonde tresses. She could tell the blonde needed some air. _

_ Mina spoke again causing Callie to tear her eyes away from Arizona and look back at her. "I tried to call a friend today in Foca who stayed behind. I begged her not to, warned her not to. When the call went through a man picked up. I asked for my friend but he said 'this is a Serb apartment now'."_

_ "They forced them out of their homes?" Callie asked looking at Mina intently. _

_ "I think so," Mina whispered. _

_ Callie stared at Mina for awhile. This was the 1990s and it seemed like Bosnia was being immersed into World War II Germany, the two situations were not comparable, but they held to many similarities. It was scary and it was shocking and Callie really needed air as well._

_ "Thank you Mina," Callie gave her a small smile before pushing herself off the gym floor. _

_ She blew out a heavy breath as she made her way outside. And when she felt the air hit her face as she made it out the building Callie closed her eyes. She shut them and inhaled deeply. She felt tears well in her own eyes instead of watching them in someone elses and it felt foreign. She could not breath again. And her breathing began to increase rapidly. She was not even a victim and yet here she was panicking. She did not know what she got herself into. She was just a journalist, she could not handle this. For the first time since she had been in what was formerly Yugoslavia, the gravity of the situation hit her. What she was reporting on hit her. She didn't know if she was strong enough to do this. _

_ She could feel the hot tears on her face. She could feel a sob get caught in her throat. She couldn't cry however, she can't cry because she needed to be strong. Because she needed to report it. _

_ She felt a strong pair of arms encase her from behind. Instead of causing alarm, Callie felt a strange sense of security and comfort. She felt hot breath on her neck._

_ "That's a lot," Arizona said as she turned Callie around, "it's a lot to take in... It's okay to cry Ms. Torres. It's okay to need to get some air, to panic. You probably didn't think you signed on for this. You heard of what was happening but you never imagined it could be this horrible."_

_ Callie looked at Arizona before putting her head on the smaller woman's shoulder. "I don't even know you."_

_ "I know," Arizona sighed and squeezed Callie before releasing her. "But you should talk to someone, okay?"_

_ "Yeah," Callie promised, "I will." _

_ Arizona nodded and gave Callie a half smile. "We should get back to the hotel now. I think that's enough for one day, don't you?"_

_ "Yeah, we should get out of here."_

…

"You're Callie Torres?" A tall blonde said as she extended her hand for Callie to take.

The abruptness of this woman snapped Callie from her memory, and out of habit, Callie took her hand and shook it. She looked at Arizona and then back at the taller blonde, "yeah and you are?"

"BBC camera woman," the blonde smiled brightly, "Teddy Altman."

"The car is outside and waiting," Teddy pointed towards the entrance of the hotel. "We should get headed out."

"You waste no time don't you?" Callie asked chuckling.

Teddy shrugged, "well time is limited, so I try my hardest to make the best of it. 'Never leave that 'til tomorrow, which you can do today' and all that good stuff. I'm not really one for putting things off or wasting time."

It was Arizona's turn to smile, "I think we'll get along just fine Altman. You may have some trouble with Ms. Torres over there however."

Teddy looked over at Arizona and raised an eyebrow.

"The names Arizona but most people just call me Captain Robbins," Arizona introduced herself. "I'm Calliope's escort of sorts. I'll be along for the ride."

Teddy tilted her head in hello, "Captain... impressive. You can't be older then twenty-eight, tops."

"Twenty-six actually, but nice observation," Arizona smirked. "Now shall we head out?"

"Oh yes," Teddy exclaimed, "absolutely. Lets do this."

…

Callie stared out the window. Rows of cornfields and farmers lined either side of the road and the sun beamed down on them. The three woman, Teddy, Arizona, and Callie, had left Belgrade on a freeway and crossed over a bridge into what was the serb-controlled area of Bosnia... or at least one of them. Right before reaching Biljeljina, Teddy had turned off the main road and headed down a dirt road.

There was a roadblock at the end of the dirt path, they were maybe a mile or two away from Batkovic. But there was a roadblock. There was a group of men with guns who stood by the roadblock. Men with guns who were not in military uniforms. Meaning that the military had no control over them, had no control over what they did because they were not under the military chain of command. They had hunting rifles and they rested under a a couple of trees.

Teddy pulled the car up to the roadblock and a man, who Callie assumed to be the leader, approached their car. "Why are you here?" he asked as he stated at the woman in the car. He was an older man and he was a bigger man. An intimidating man.

Arizona was the one to speak up, "we want to visit the prison camp."

The man gave them a glare, "there is no prison camp here. Get out."

"What's with the roadblock?" Arizona retorted.

"Fighting ahead," was the man's reply, "so out. Now!"

Teddy out the car in reverse. One of the rules in Bosnia was to never talk back to the barrel of a gun. Also, if the Serbs wanted you gone, you left. Whatever they wanted you gave them, if it meant your survival then you gave it to them.

Teddy drove a mile back down the road and then stopped. It was a two hour drive to Batkovic and she was not leaving without at least something. So with the consent of both Callie and Arizona, Teddy decided on talking to the locals. She pulled the car over a ways down and got her gear from the trunk.

Callie and her walked to a house somewhat down the road and Arizona stayed by the car as she watched them.

Callie knocked on the door of the house and a small, old woman answered the door. She studied the two woman and without hesitation asked, "are you guys here to see the prison camp?"

Teddy grinned like a kid on Christmas, "so there is a prison camp?"

"Yeah," the woman nodded, "buses full of prisoners came down this way awhile back. Shaved heads and all. The buses headed down there, " she pointed at the dirt road across the street. "The only way to bypass the roadblock."

Callie nodded and Teddy said her thanks before they headed to the neighboring house. Teddy asked the question this time, about the prison camp. And as she did a man walked down the porch and got on his bike and pedaled away fast. It seemed strange to Callie, but she thought nothing of it.

With all the confirmation they needed, Callie and Teddy headed back over to Arizona.

"You think we should give it a shot?" Teddy asked.

Callie sighed. She tilted her head back and looked at the sky. She shook her head, "no. Going down that road we could run into another road block. We should just head back to Belgrade."

"Okay," Teddy nodded her head in agreement. She got into the car followed by Arizona and Callie.

Callie grunted and said, "dammit", after Teddy started the car.

Teddy looked at her through the rear-view mirror and smiled. Arizona just watched the interaction before coming to a conclusion.

"We aren't going back to Belgrade are we?" she asked.

"Not yet," Teddy smirked, "time for some damn fine reporting."

Arizona turned around to see Callie's face, "Ms. Torres?"

Callie closed her eyes and smacked the back of Teddy's seat, "good and courageous reporting. Teddy's right Arizona... look. The best stories are the ones people try to hide or that are too dangerous to get to because of fighting, always. And that means in a war zone, the best stories get told by the people craziest enough to chase after the stories. The best stories get told by the craziest people, the stupidest people."

"So we're headed down the dirt road?" Arizona asked once more to confirm.

"We are headed down the dirt road," Callie nodded her more confident confirmation.

Teddy hit the gas.

...

**Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think good or bad, but if it is bad please let me know why so that I can improve as a writer. Thank you for reading! :) -Mya**

**so I am editing this chapter to address a review that I really wanted to acknowledge by Random Kid. I felt like it should be acknowledged. I wanted to say thank you for one but that I also belive you for two. I know that the Serbians weren't the only ones at fault, I know that it went both ways, and I was going to address that later on. I also know there was a HUGE failure in the West to stop what was going on both during Bushes and Clinton's administrations. No sides in this were absolutely clean. I also liked to address how you said everyone lived in peace prior to conflict breaking out and I've read a lot about that. Can't say I experienced it. So I guess what I wanted to say was that I DO believe you, and again I would like to thank you for your review. Maybe you'll see this or maybe you won't but I felt like I owed it to you :)**


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